


No consequences and no fear

by svenskiovich



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, violence (not graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svenskiovich/pseuds/svenskiovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will had once been brighter, more carefree, more independent—less of a brutal lackey.  That was in the time of those riotous Austrian nights, when they took over moldering ancestral houses and raided neighboring wine cellars so they could dance like they had just discovered the night, like they had been saved from death solely for this raucous ecstasy.  ((One shot of Carmilla and Will's early vampire days.  I like to imagine their early afterlife as a constant, quite terrifying, party.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	No consequences and no fear

**Author's Note:**

> This random one shot of Carmilla's past has been mouldering on my computer for quite awhile now, so I figured I might as well share it.

_No consequences and no fear._

It was Mother’s mantra, of sorts. Not because she said it often, but because she said it at…significant moments. Like the time they had found Carmilla’s murderer and left him bloodless. And like the first time Carmilla had brought her a young girl for the sacrifice.

Or like the time Mother had broken William. Will had once been brighter, more carefree, more independent—less of a brutal lackey. That was in the time of those riotous Austrian nights, when they took over moldering ancestral houses and raided neighboring wine cellars so they could dance like they had just discovered the night, like they had been saved from death solely for this raucous ecstasy. There was champagne and music and everything Carmilla had dreamed of as a child, but it was nothing like that other ball, she would tell herself—nothing like that party where a stranger stabbed her right through her pretty, pink dress. This was _afterlife_ , where her sharpened eyes could see the stars even on the cloudiest nights, where the girls would climb up to the roof with her to steal tentative kisses. It was up there one night that she saw Will, all loud laughter and bravado, convincing a group of boys to play King of the Mountain on the roof’s edge.

“Mother _says_ she’ll teach us to be stronger and faster so we can run with the Ancient Ones, but has she really taught us anything?” he crowed loudly, too loudly. He was casually crouched on a stone gargoyle—one of a line of stone figures that protruded over the roof’s edge and grimaced ineffectually at the darkness. “Has anyone learned anything besides ‘Don’t worry, my little ones,’ or ‘The night belongs to you now?’” he asked, affecting a high flutter that sounded very little like Mother’s steely tone. The gargoyle gave a sharp crack and Will moved smoothly to the next one even as it broke beneath him. He stayed upright instead of crouching again, standing on the companion gargoyle as the first one shattered somewhere below. “We have to teach ourselves if we want to be strong,” he announced. “We have to push ourselves—or each other, I suppose.” He couldn’t help but flash a pale, self-satisfied grin as the boys erupted in replies and challenges. Carmilla exchanged looks with the girl who had climbed up to the roof with her that night—Lacey was her name. Lacey shook her head in amusement and gave Carmilla a small little smile that was all her own, but then she pushed her way into the group. Carmilla hung back. “So who’s first?” he called out over the chatter.  


Carmilla felt her—a prickle running down her spine; quiet, fleshy wings in the night. Maybe it was because Carmilla was one of the newest, because she had been awoken so recently, but she always felt her coming.  


“I could be first,” said Mother, stepping out of the darkness beside Carmilla. There was a sudden silence as every eye turned to where she stood. “If you don’t mind, William.” For a moment, Will froze—Carmilla could see his eyes dilate, his nostrils flare. Then he answered with the deferential swagger he always adopted in her presence.  


“This game is for boys, Mother. We know you’d crush us to pieces—we’ve seen you on the hunt.”  


Carmilla could hear the smile in Mother’s voice. “True, my favorite one, very true.” As she said it she reached out and stroked Carmilla’s cheek once with the back of her fingers, without even glancing at her, a deliberate gesture of fondness and ownership—then stepped through the group toward Will. Carmilla put a hand to her face, wishing Lacey would leave the cluster and come back to her. “But how will you run with the Ancient Ones if I don’t train you, if I don’t push you?”  


“Exactly,” Will answered smoothly, too confidently. “I’m ready to learn, Mother.” Another sharp crack of stone, and he stepped to the next gargoyle, a bit too quickly, not as easily as before. “I’m ready to be done with the parties and the games.” He should’ve gotten down back onto the roof, back to Mother’s level—that was the way to end it. But he just stood there, his grin wide, like nothing could ever touch him. That is, until Mother leapt fluidly up onto his gargoyle, sending him shuffling awkwardly back to accommodate her. He shot a panicked look at the roof. Carmilla waited for the stone to crack, her body cold.  


“That’s my boy. Now here’s your first lesson.” She leaned toward Will, and he inched back the little that he could, eyes wide. “Jump.” There was a silence. Then he somehow managed to find his easy smile.  


“Oh, I can jump. I’ve been testing myself. I can make it up to the top of that cupola before anyone else, even from here,” he boasted, as if they were still talking about his King of the Mountain game.  


“No, no, no, darling,” Mother tut-tutted. “That would be too easy, too childish. You’re ready to be stronger, aren’t you, to dive to the frozen caves and feel nothing, to scale the Swiss peaks, to run tirelessly through the night.” She leaned further and Will lost his smile, tried to inch his foot back again and found only the edge—he nearly slipped—everyone tensed—then he compulsively crouched, gripping the statue with his hands. Mother was the only safety, Carmilla thought deliberately. Mother was ice and pain, but she was first and foremost the only shelter, the only afterlife. “Jump down, little boy,” Mother continued. “Jump down into the darkness, and then get back up—get back up and run, if you can.” The wind gusted, bringing the sounds of drunken laughter and a lone, haunting violin from the courtyard below. Mother was shelter, Carmilla reminded herself. Mother was afterlife.  


Will was still looking up at her, gripping the stone, frozen. Mother leaned over him; her shadow enveloped him. “Remember, darling, remember what it means to be one of us: No consequences and no fear.” For some reason Lacey repeated her words—“No consequences and no fear.” Then the others took it up, saying it without emotion—a little cacophony. Carmilla remembered the first time she had heard those words, a first and last memory that she knew she shared with all her sisters and brothers—an icy stab of new pain that dulled the wet ache—a living shadow that took everything she had until she succumbed to the burning, burning cold—a shuddering awakening. “You aren’t like them anymore, William,” Mother said tenderly. “Remember how their bodies broke and bled? Let’s see what yours will do. No consequences, William. No fear.” A piercing crack of stone, and they both fell.  


Carmilla felt herself rush to the roof’s edge with the others, but even her sharp eyes saw only darkness. They all heard it all though, that unearthly scream and the odd, fleshy thwack. “No consequences,” one of the boys said to himself, like a private prayer. Carmilla just headed to the stairs.  


They all made it to the ground floor at about the same time, trooping out to the ancient, wrecked courtyard like a group of schoolchildren. Up on the second floor they were still carousing, but out there the music had stopped and a crowd was gathering around the boy on the cobblestone whose neck and limbs and back were bent in ways that were _wrong_.  


Mother was still leaning triumphantly over him, hardly a hair out of place. Carmilla hung back again, but she could still hear his ragged whimpers. “It hurts, Mother. It _hurts_.”  


Through the bodies, Carmilla could see Mother stoop to stroke his cheek, as if suddenly pleased with him. “You see, my darling? You’re still here. No consequences.” She turned her glittering eyes to the violinist. “What was that song you were playing, dearest? We’d best hear it again.” Then she grabbed Will roughly by the hair and dragged him flat—he gave a guttural scream of pure agony as his flesh and sinew splayed out on the stone. No one moved. “Well then, Delaney?” she said pointedly to the violinist. A haunting melody quavered to a start, and Mother set each of Will’s bones back in place with merciless efficiency. Carmilla felt a visceral sickness hit her with each of Will’s screams, but there was no bile to rise in her throat. She would decide later that Will had it coming, that he was such a show-off, that he was too careless about things, that he should’ve just run away if he were going to think like that. But at the time all she could think was that Mother was consequences. Mother was fear.


End file.
